A Shell of a Former Life
by justasimplesketch
Summary: Written for Inception Kink Meme. Eames unintentionally hurts Arthur in the past and spends years, afterward, looking for him. Will he ever find him? And if so, will things work out as planned? Second part posted.
1. A Shell of a Former Life

**A Shell of a Former Life**

_Prompt: Eames (unintentionally) hurt Arthur when they were young and Arthur was desperately in love with Eames. Arthur disappears from Eames' life and Eames has been searching for Arthur since. Years later, Eames happens to see Arthur again across a crowded street. To his utter surprise and devastation, standing beside him is a beautiful woman and a child with Arthur's dark curls and adorable frown. What breaks Eames' heart is how _happy_ Arthur seems with them._

I regret that day every moment I spend without him. A simple misunderstanding has hollowed me out, leaving barely a shell. Looking for a trace of him, the smallest inkling of his existence, consumes my every hour. All my searching ends up empty-handed. None of his previous companions speak to me, saying that if they knew his whereabouts, they'd never reveal that. Not to the wanker who supposedly tore up his heart like one tears up rubbish.

That day, seven years ago, remains so fresh and accurate in my mind. Revisiting every moment and mistake makes it my reality, my never-ending hell. Every possible lead of his location has run dry, but I still feel my heart stammering every time someone with his bone-structure passes me on the street. _Could it be?_ It never is. I am beginning to believe he never existed and I have simply created his memory due to some type of mental illness. I truly _don't_ believe this, but it almost makes living bearable. _Almost_.

Collapsing upon my bed, I prepare myself to dream of that day again. Seeing the flash of long, blonde hair and red lipstick attack me before hearing Arthur's sharp and sad disappointment. An old fling had decided I was still her sexual property. She caught my lips right when Arthur had entered the pub. I followed after him, through the pouring rain, begging him to please listen. To just let me talk. He had promised me that much in the morning.

Morning came and Arthur was gone. His apartment cleared of his dearest possessions, leaving only meaningless things, namely things to do with me, behind. My favorite picture of the two of us, lay on the ground in a broken picture frame. That said picture is still folded up inside of my wallet, worn and faded from all the unfolding and refolding over the years. I look daily only to see his smile and the boundless love resonating in his eyes. Every time, it feels as if someone is shoving a dagger into my heart, reopening the wounds that have only started to heal again, twenty-four hours prior. But I can't avoid the masochism; I need to see his face and remember what once was.

Once my hope of locating him had diminished sensibly as my depression mounted, I found the cheapest studio available in an obscure area outside of New York City. It makes me feel closer to him, knowing he only truly felt alive enveloped in that sleepless world. He _loved_? _loves_? the quick pace, the restlessness, the feeling that so many other people felt the same drive as he did. In a distant lifetime, Arthur thought he was destined to shine musically, thus the original appeal of the city. Reality and surprisingly, dreams, took hold and made him lose sight of his deepest admiration of things musical. A life that introduced him to me and to subsequent heartbreak.

Morning rolls around far too soon. It always does with the constant reminder of loneliness. I briefly reflect on the man I once was. So full of life, quick with a joke, devilishly charming and handsome (to a fault, I suppose). Now, I mope in my self-pity.

Against my better judgment, I collect some clothing and go for a long shower. The day is beautiful and perhaps, better spent in the bustling crowds of the city to block out the constant unwanted thoughts.

Arriving just before noon, the streets are already crowded with people with purpose, trying to get from a to b. Whereas they move with certainty, I drift amongst them looking for a sign.

That sign comes rather bluntly while strolling through Central Park that afternoon. At first, I feel like my eyes are playing tricks on me. But there is no mistaking that bone structure, the slight curl to his hair when it has grown out slightly. I stare at him, feeling my heart race. His beautiful face enveloped in a gorgeous smile.

My heart drops when I see the reason for his smile; a young boy runs toward him, dressed in a school uniform. The boy looks very much like Arthur, same gorgeous hair and ridiculously charming pout. Arthur picks the boy up and spins him around. A woman walks up to them, a slight little thing, and pecks Arthur on the cheek sweetly.

I know I should avert my eyes and move on, as Arthur had. _I can't_. Seeing him, even with his beautiful family, feels like I'm home again. As the agony slowly builds in my chest, I curse myself for not trying harder to find him in years past.

Arthur turns his head and our eyes lock. We both recoil slightly, especially me, as I never thought he would notice me. Arthur frowns before offering me a half smile. I run after that. I run until I reach the train station. My chest aches as I lean up against a pillar. I can't catch my breath as seven years of emotions bubble up over my senses.

The train ride goes by quickly as I try to contain the pain. I wander aimlessly through the streets until I reach my apartment building. Running up the flights of stairs to my studio, I open the door and locked it tightly behind me before stumbling over to the couch. I always thought when I saw Arthur, I would have the opportunity to explain and maybe rekindle a romance.

_No. Not going to happen._

The rest of the day and night pass by without me noticing. Not until I hear a knock on my door the next morning, do I notice so many hours passed without consequence. Pushing myself up and off the couch, I walk to the door and open it.

I gasp silently when Arthur is standing on the other side of the door. I try to apply my old charm after recovering slightly, but I can't manage it.

"Hello, Mr. Eames."

"Arthur." I step aside, allowing him entrance. He walks in a couple of feet and stops. I close the door and turn to face him. "What are you doing here?"

"I still have many connections. It is not hard to track people down, you know this."

I bite back a bitter laugh. "Unless they are you."

He gives me a sad smile, "I know you've been looking since…" He trails off, uncomfortably. "I just couldn't, Eames. I was so desperately in love with you. Seeing you with that repulsive woman, it broke all of my sensibilities. I didn't know up from down, right from wrong. So, I ran. My sister took me in and I helped her raise her newborn son, her boyfriend split soon after his birth. I spent my time, hiding in the same place, completely undetectable. Until yesterday."

"Why are you here?" I am uncertain of his motives, but I need to know.

"Morning has come, Mr. Eames. I do believe you owe me an explanation." His voice quivers as he swallows heavily.

"But what about—" _Oh_. "So that woman and boy yesterday…"

"My little sister and her son."

A rush of relief courses through my body. So much relief that I grab the nearest chair and sink into it as my legs shake. "She was an old fling. Mindlessly drunk. I spent the entire night pushing off her advances. The one time I let my guard down as I was searching for you, she planted a kiss on my lips. Of course, the universe decided that you would walk in, just at that moment. I have spent the last seven years, turning this world upside down for the littlest of leads. I have visited every possible place I could think of. I—"

I am silenced as Arthur pushes a finger against my lips, "You're rambling. Unbecoming for the person I remember you as. Charming, funny, eccentric. But you've changed, I see. You've lost that spark which drew me to you, all those years ago. And I know that's my fault. But after seeing you yesterday, I spent the entire day lost in my memories of you. Things I haven't visited in years. Remembering what is like to kiss you, to have your arms around me, to feel you touch me." His voice clouds with lust and desire. "I made a mistake seven years ago. And I am willing to change. To make up for that mistake. To slowly heal you and me, for us to be what we once were. Because I can't go back to not knowing you. To not kissing you. Being without you. _I can't_. I knew all these years that I probably overreacted, but not until yesterday. Not until yesterday did I truly realize it. The way you recoiled and ran. I knew what you thought. You thought I had moved on, found a wife to settle down with. But I have been lonely. Trying to replicate you is impossible."

I stare at him, dumbfounded. "Arthur." I whisper his name.

He smiles and wraps his arms around my seated form, my head resting in his chest. I can hear his heart racing and feel the slight tremble to his body. "I love you. I never stopped. And all it took was one encounter to realize that."

I pull him down onto my lap and hold him tightly, hoping that it will convince me I am not dreaming. Without thinking, I place my hand in my pocket and feel for my totem, a thing I have not used in years. It confirms reality. He smiles and shakes his head, knowing what I have done. He lifts my chin and kisses me properly. My nerve endings explode with white-hot desire. I pant heavily as I deepen the kiss. How I have missed his lips, his fingers, his everything. As we break apart, I rest my head against his shoulder and whisper, "I love you too, Arthur."


	2. A Totem Check

**A Shell of a Former Life**

_Chapter Two: A Totem Check_

_Note: Sexy-time scene at the end of chapter. Afraid it isn't well-written. I generally don't write things of a sexual nature. There will be one more piece to this story, I have decided. Watch out for it. :)_

After years of waking up alone in bed, feeling his hot breath against my neck always puts me into a panicked frenzy. The totem I once abandoned has become a constant, anchoring me to reality of the situation.

Arthur, mostly naked in _our_ bed, is real. The sleepy smile and good morning kisses are real. It is fantastically real.

Yet, it is _too_ real and _too_ perfect. That's the problem.

We've been living together for six months now. A dream come true, especially considering how I spent the seven years previous to this half-year. Perhaps, I'm untrusting and continuously worried he will come to his senses and leave again. I could not bear that.

Hiding my insecurities from Arthur remains difficult because he is more observant than I remember. He chalks it up to the changes in me that occurred during his absence, but how long can I use that tired excuse?

Apparently, not long, because he begins to suggest we talk about what happened and where our relationship is going. He cites the lack of intimacy after that first day and my overall paranoia as reasons. I mumble about having to go out for something, one morning when he brings it up, and leave without saying anything more. I arrive home after walking around the city streets for hours to a note. It says he has gone to visit his sister for the day. He will be returning in the evening, and we will be having a talk.

I pace nervously in the living room, accidentally smacking my leg against the coffee table nearly a dozen times. He comes home to find me like that, pacing with a large bruise forming on my leg. Arthur stops me and takes me in his arms. He feels real. He _is_ real.

"Eames, calm down." I am crying and shaking, and I cannot recall this starting. He pulls me over to the couch and we remain in each other's arms until the sky starts to lighten. We don't exchange any words, apart from Arthur's soothing and comforting ones. His tone signifies he's beginning to realize how broken I am. How the loss of his love took all of my life from me. Scarred me. Created the shade of the man he once knew. I lost touch with reality years ago and never noticed how detached from the world I truly was, until Arthur waltzed back into my reality. Bringing the real world in with him. Making me face that things changed. Things fucking changed. The world is seven years older than when I began to break mentally. I'm seven years older and so is he. I spent those seven fucking years lost in one day. Reliving the pain and agony continuously until it was the only thing I knew.

He blames himself. I come to that conclusion as we finally head to bed. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close. The silent desperation in his tension begs me to forgive him, begs me to get well.

We sleep well into the late afternoon, or at least, I do. Arthur looks exhausted, but smiles when I kiss him. Once he leaves the bedroom with a promise of food and drink, I check the totem and am once again told I'm not dreaming.

"You don't have to always check your totem." His voice startles me.

"I don't."

"You check it every morning. At first, I understood it. Things changed suddenly. Life was so drastically different and you needed to be sure of the truth. But now, I've little reason to understand because you never talk to me. You shrink away from my touch and barely speak to me. Has my previous decision damaged you too much for you to still love me?" He looks down at his hands as he nervously wrings them. He's the picture of perfection, having aged very little in seven years. The wrinkles around his eyes are more defined from how the skin crinkles around his eyes when he smiles. The air about him is wiser, more intelligent. How could I not love him?

"This is not about you, Arthur. It's about me. How I refused to move on from that one day. Approximately 2,500 days past from the time I found the empty apartment until that day in the park six months ago. Do you know how many of those days I neglected to live? Every single one of them. Nearly seven years passed me by, while I lived in one day, reliving the mistakes and the memories," I reach over and grab my wallet. Pulling the picture from the wallet, I toss it in his direction. It falls short and he bends down and picks it up. He closes his eyes and a tear slides down his cheek once he gets a proper look at it. "I found that in a broken picture frame on your floor that morning. I looked at that picture every single day for nearly seven years. It started a vicious cycle every morning. I lived a masochistic ritual. And your notion that your decision broke me too much for me to love you? That's insanity. I wouldn't have dealt with all that I did if I did not love you. I am willing to talk, if that's what you want. If you can guarantee that you aren't going to suddenly decide this isn't for you and leave." He looks momentarily shocked before moving to the bed and sitting beside me.

"I'm not going anywhere. Being with you these last six months have made me realize that I lacked a life as well. Perhaps, I did not dwell upon one day, but I threw myself into someone else's life. All I knew, day in and out, for seven years, was my sister and nephew. I told you, six months ago, that I am willing to heal the both of us. If that takes every ounce of strength I have, if that takes until the moment I die, I don't care. We deserve happiness. To create the memories that should have already existed. To feel safe and secure and fall into comfortable patterns. We deserve to grow old together and feel weary in our bones, yet still be full of life because we have one another. I will never leave you again, _never_." The emotion in his words overcomes me as I grab his shirt collar and pull him forward. I crush my lips against his, in a desperate display of need, want, lust, and love. They all roll together, forming an unbearable ache in my body.

I need him, undeniably so. I need to feel his every inch of skin on mine. In a flurry motions, clothes go flying in all directions; his shirt hits the lampshade, my boxers land on a chair, his pants hang off the bed. I press my body as close to his body as it can be, hearing him hiss softly in my ear as our erections touch. I run a hand down and grab a hold of his, running a masterful hand up and down, occasionally working my way to handle his balls. His fingernails gouge into my bare skin, causing my cock to twitch in desire. I lower my mouth onto him and wrap my tongue around the head, giving it a gentle squeeze. Continuing to pump my hand about the base, I feel his body tensing for release. His heavy pants and my moaned name fill the air. He comes violently; hips buck forward and tremble as he holds onto me through his pleasure. I swallow without hesitation.

Without missing a beat, he grabs onto my erection and my body floods with pleasure as all of my hairs stand on end. I bite at the gentle skin of his collarbone, determined to stay as close as possible to him. He wraps an arm around me, bringing me closer, while still handling my cock. The warmth growing in the pit of my stomach increases quickly, leaving me panting the sex-filled air, trying to hold back from coming too soon.

"Mmm, come for me, darling." His usage of my pet name for him drives me crazy with desire, as does the friction of his skin against my own. I orgasm loudly, screaming out his name, clinging to him as every wave of pleasure runs through every nerve-ending in my body. Once the sensations pass, I smile goofily at him, feeling sated and whole, something I haven't felt in years.

That evening, we place our totems in the safe in the apartment, vowing to not use them unless absolutely necessary. I feel anxious at first, but then I feel Arthur wrap his arms around my waist. I realize, for the first time since he moved in, I don't care if this is reality or not. He is here and so am I; that's what matters.


End file.
